


The Dangers of Quidditch Captaincy

by WillGirl



Series: Not Their Fathers' Sons [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Crush, First Kiss, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, Homosexuality, M/M, Post - Deathly Hallows, Quidditch, School, Slytherin Albus Severus Potter, Slytherin Scorpius Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:18:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillGirl/pseuds/WillGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Totally platonic best friends Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy find a little bit more than they expected when they try to re-vamp the Slytherin team's training schedule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dangers of Quidditch Captaincy

Scorpius grinned and held the bit of parchment high over his head. It was more a gesture than anything else; Albus was decidedly taller than he was—he had inherited his height from his mother's lanky, red-headed family—and he couldn’t possibly raise it out of his friend’s grasp without levitating. But Albus grinned back and grabbed for it wildly, and when Scorpius jerked it away he was almost certain that Albus hadn’t missed it deliberately.

Almost, because Albus was every bit as good a Chaser as Scorpius was, and he had the sharp reflexes and nigh-perfect hand-eye-coordination that might have let him catch the parchment, anyway, even with Scorpius waving it around. Almost, because it wouldn’t be much of a game if Albus snatched the prize in the first moment, and because they were friends, and they enjoyed teasing one another.

Almost, because they were co-captains anyway, in all the ways that mattered, even if Scorpius was the one who held the position officially. Everyone on the team knew he shared the role with Albus; in Slytherin, these days, neither a Malfoy nor a Potter could command alone the obedience that a Quidditch captain required. But those who would never accept a Potter as one of their own were nearly bred to obey a Malfoy’s orders, while those who would never forgive a Malfoy for everything his family had done could hardly help but listen to a Potter.

Almost, because they worked together, and there was no way that Scorpius was going to implement a new training schedule without Albus’s input and the other boy knew it, but it was fun to tease.

So Scorpius grinned and taunted, “too slow, mate. If you’re going to play like a Hufflepuff, then I don’t see why you’d think I’d want your help, anyway.”

Albus grinned right back. “I’ll show you too slow,” he said, and caught Scorpius’s upraised wrist.

Scorpius was—almost—certain that he hadn’t let Albus do that; certainly he tried valiantly to twist away afterwards, still laughing. He took advantage of his shorter height for once and turned and ducked under Albus’s arm so that the other boy had to practically fold himself like a pretzel to keep hold of Scorpius’s wrist. He managed it, though; Albus was as flexible and, when he put his mind to it, as relentless as Devil’s Snare.

“Stop wriggling,” Albus ordered, more amused than exasperated.

“Don’t think I shall,” Scorpius replied lightly. He twisted back the other way and Albus swore, Scorpius’s wrist slipping free as Albus’s arm was yanked in a direction it was never meant to go.

They both laughed again, Scorpius rubbing his wrist and Albus massaging his shoulder. “Git,” said Albus, grinning.

Then he tackled Scorpius about the waist, the shorter boy falling backwards with a startled squawk. They hit the floor heavily, although Albus was conscientious enough to try and avoid landing too hard on his skinnier, slighter friend. So conscientious, in fact, that he bruised his knee on the hard stone of their dungeon dormitory and let out a yelp of pain.

Scorpius took the opportunity to squirm free and almost managed it but Albus recovered just in time to latch his fingers into the smaller boy’s belt and drag him backwards. Then the wrestling match was on in earnest, Scorpius hampered by the fact that he had to try and keep one arm extended away from him at all times so that his friend couldn’t grab the parchment that was, ostensibly, the reason for the tussle.

It was really just a matter of high spirits and spring in the air, and too much time training instead of playing, and spending a gorgeous day inside working on homework and Quidditch strategy, and midterms being over and O.W.L.s still far away, and they were sixteen and, even if they were more reserved and refined than most of their classmates—especially Scorpius—they were still teenage boys. The training schedule was just an excuse. The real point of the mild roughhousing was, of course, the roughhousing itself.

And they certainly weren’t actively trying to hurt one another; for one thing, they were friends. For another, the outcome could never really have been in any doubt. Albus had grown up with a multitude of cousins as well as an older brother. He could wrestle and brawl as well as anyone, certainly better than anyone looking at his lanky, mop-haired frame would guess. Scorpius, by contrast, was the only child of overprotective parents and came from a very refined, elegant society; he had been twelve years old before he had felt his first punch, and then it had been Albus’s own brother, James, doing the honors. Scorpius was, thus, in no way an accomplished brawler. He was, in fact, pretty much pants at any sort of physical confrontation that took place off the pitch, although he was absolute murder with a wand in his hands.

Fortunately Scor was a pure-blood from a really old family; Muggle brawling was considered to be beneath them all, so he wasn’t much embarrassed by his lack of prowess in that area, the way most blokes would have been. Scorpius knew he could hex the face off anyone he wanted; that was far more important to an old wizarding bloodline than the ability to throw a decent punch (which he really couldn’t). It was also fortunate as Scorpius was downright dainty, and even if he’d had the technique, probably wouldn’t have been able to hold his own in any kind of actual fight. Even in the ridiculously old-fashioned heeled boots he usually wore, the top of his head barely came up to Albus’s nose. He was hoping for a growth spurt that would grant him the imposing height common to Malfoys, but at three months past sixteen, Scorpius was still short enough he could pass for a fourth year student, maybe even a third year if one didn't look too closely, especially with his slight build and china doll features.

So Albus was careful to be gentle while they wrestled, both because he didn’t want to accidentally hurt his friend and because he knew that if he did, he risked a nasty retaliatory bit of instinctive wandless magic. He had seen Scorpius duel often enough to highly respect his knowledge of curses.

Besides, they weren’t really fighting in earnest, anyway.

But Albus still won. After a few panting, struggling minutes, he had Scorpius pinned underneath him, looking cross but still laughing. Albus captured his friend’s wrist again—the one with the parchment—and held him securely against the floor. “Now who’s—too slow—huh?” he panted.

Scorpius sniffed disdainfully. “I still maintain it’s you,” he replied, sounding very winded himself. He squirmed, but with the other boy’s hands holding his wrists above his head and Albus’s legs straddling his own, he could do little more than twist his ankles feebly, kicking for purchase against the smooth stone floor and finding none.

“Fine,” he gasped, “I yield. You can…have the…bloody paper.”

Albus grinned in victory. “Thank you,” he said smugly, and leaned over to wrest the crumpled bit of parchment away from his friend.

Only he didn’t.

Somehow, on the way to Scorpius’s wrist, Albus got delayed by his mouth.

Before he knew what was happening, or why, Albus Severus Potter found himself kissing Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, his best friend since the first day of their first year of school.

And, even more baffling, Scorpius was kissing him back.

Conscious thought abandoned Albus in favor of the feeling of Scorpius. Something warm, like electricity but softer, burned through him everywhere that their bodies touched. Scorpius squirmed beneath him again, not trying to escape this time but rather to increase the points of contact. His lips parted and the next thing Albus was aware of was the fact that he had just stuck his tongue down his best friend’s throat.

Albus pulled back, panting, and looked down at the boy beneath him. Scorpius’s grey eyes were wide and frightened and they stared at Albus with the same perplexed shock that Albus imagined must be writ all over his face, as well. Scorpius’s pale cheeks were flushed and his lips were still parted. They were softer than Albus had expected. Scorpius was so prone to wearing masks of cold indifference or smug scorn, Albus would never have guessed that his mouth could be so warm and yielding.

“What…what was that?” Albus panted.

“No idea,” Scorpius gasped.

They stared at one another, fear and longing struggling in their locked gazes.

Albus had always known that his friend was attractive; that had been obvious even at the awkward age of eleven, when Albus had stumbled—frightened and shy—into the other’s train compartment. He’d just never cared, or at least never realized how deep that went. It had been aesthetics, nothing more; one couldn’t help but make note of Scorpius’s cool good looks, but they had certainly never _meant_ anything to Albus…not until now.

Everything about Scorpius was delicate and refined, from those high cheekbones—flushed now, rather than bearing their usual chilly pallor—and the sharp chin and thin, aristocratically-pointed nose down to his long, dexterous fingers and slim, graceful ankles. Scorpius was elegant and languid and his every move seemed like a slow, perfectly choreographed dance, whether he was swooping around the Quidditch pitch or just walking up the halls of Hogwarts.

Albus had always envied his friend that grace, just like he envied him his perfect hair: pale and smooth and hardly ever out of place. The worst it ever did was flop into his eyes and, every time Scorpius impatiently shoved it aside, it did just as it was supposed to and allowed itself to be slicked back and down, so well-behaved and neat that Albus sometimes swore it had to be bespelled.

And his words, when he spoke: they practically dripped eloquence and refinement. Scorpius could do more damage with words than most people could do with wands, and he never had to resort to shouting to make his points. Then there was his drawling, confident voice and charmingly superior smirk; Scorpius could be a marvelous arse when he wanted to and with him, scathing sarcasm was elevated to an art form. There were times when Albus would instigate a confrontation with some hapless Gryffindor or Hufflepuff just so he could stand back and listen to his friend’s verbal arsenal.

Sometimes he didn’t even need the words; Scorpius’s eyebrows were like a novel, they could say so much. Albus had learned to read his friend’s every mood by the quirk of those beautifully expressive arches. Scorpius didn’t often let his emotions show on his face, or in his tone, not unless he wanted them to, but if you looked closely—and Albus did—his eyebrows almost never lied. They were the chink in the Malfoy Mask that let Albus in. And Albus was the only one, he knew it. Scorpius practically dripped chill reserve; radiated an untouchable, uninterested aura that deterred all but the most brazen of inquiries. Not Albus’s, though; Scorpius had never, ever tried to keep him out or push him away and to Albus—although to no one else—Scorpius Malfoy was the most open, trusting, and trustworthy soul on the planet. He had an easy confidence that Albus had never managed, and his open friendliness had been Albus’s sole lifeline more than once.

But Scorpius was his best friend. He’d always loved him, of course he had—but Albus had thought it was platonic, the way one loved a brother (only not James, who was a prat). Not…not _this_.

Scorpius swallowed hard, staring up at Albus and wishing that his heart would stop fluttering so violently. It was terribly distracting, and he was having a hard enough time trying to think as it was.

He wondered that he had never before noticed how deep, how bottomless, Albus Potter’s eyes were. They were like some magical forest out of a Beedle tale, endless and beautiful. Scorpius thought that he could get lost so easily in those eyes, those beautiful green, almond-shaped eyes. He was finding it hard to breathe and pulled his gaze away from Albus’s ensnaring eyes, but it didn’t help much; he found himself staring at the rest of Albus, instead. From his position on the floor, underneath his friend, he could see nothing _but_ Albus.

His flat, thick brows; his soft, dark lips; his floppy, thick, untidy hair. Scorpius had always loved Albus’s hair. It was so alive, so much like Albus himself. All that unruly energy, contained in the slim, wiry form of Albus Potter, like laughter barely restrained. Scorpius loved the way Albus laughed, whether it was sudden and startled or just a soft chuckle, it always sounded so _real_. Scorpius’s life was filled with artifice and Albus was delightfully artless. Albus was sincere, his every word and action things that he _meant_ , truly and genuinely, and Scorpius found it fascinating. Even Albus’s secrets were sincere, not that he kept any from Scorpius.

Scorpius was the only one who ever got to see the whole that was Albus Severus Potter. Each heartbreaking insecurity, each enthralling bit of genius, everything that Albus hid from the rest of the world—from his own family, even, sometimes; those Gryffindors who, Albus was certain, could never understand him—all of that, he shared with Scorpius, and no one else. Not even Rose Weasley, Albus’s cousin and other best friend; enot even Lycoris Nott, their closest comrade in Slytherin; not even Margot Garrot, their fellow Chaser; not even Lily Potter, his own baby sister; not even his parents. All people that Albus was close to, but still apart from. Albus kept himself pulled in tight, like a coiled snarl of energy, and the only person he trusted enough to let the whole way in was Scorpius. With Scorpius, he was guileless and open and fearless.

Albus was awkward, too, in that endearing way that puppies were supposed to have. Scorpius had never noticed such a trait in dogs, or with anyone else, really; awkwardness was tedious and annoying, except when it was Albus’s. Then it was, somehow, the most charming thing in the world. Scorpius adored when Albus stammered or stuttered, when he stumbled over his words but refused to be silenced, anyway. The way he could be frightened but brave at the same time: so easily intimidated by people (especially his brother) but never willing to crumble no matter how scared he got. It was heartening, and gave Scorpius more courage himself than he would have ordinarily possessed; he had never, ever been willing to back down from anything in front of Albus.

And now it occurred to him that he had probably just been trying to impress him—protect him, too, but yes, to show off as well. Scorpius blushed slightly; how had he gone so long not realizing how he’d felt about Albus Potter? Of course he’d loved him, he’d known that for ages, but not _romantically_. Albus was his best friend, his soul mate even, but not—not _that_.

Only, apparently, he was.

“We could…we could try it again,” Scorpius heard himself saying, sounding a lot braver than he felt. “Just to…just to see.”

Albus nodded and swallowed. “Right,” he said. “Yeah. Good…good idea…”

Then his lips were back on Scorpius’s again and the world collapsed in a rush. Scorpius gasped and pushed up hard into the kiss, his back arching off the floor. The hands that had been capturing his wrists slipped off and slid down his arms. It felt like Albus’s fingers trailed sparks behind them. Scorpius shivered and drew his arms in to encircle Albus, burying his fingers in his friend’s mop of thick, dark hair.

Albus’s eyes were closed but he felt like he could still see everything: the hot flush of Scorpius’s cheeks, the bright flutter of grey beneath his lashes, the curl of hair that fell across his pale brow. He could feel Scorpius trembling beneath him, feel his fingers latch in Albus’s hair, feel him press up against him, wild and passionate and surprisingly warm.

Scorpius Malfoy was cool, and collected, and confident—more confident than Albus, at least, and he projected his perfect, unruffled façade well—and, quite frankly, he was cold. It wasn’t an unkind coldness, not if you were his friend at least, but it was still chilly and a little bit daunting. How could anyone ever measure up to that cold perfection? Scorpius had always been like an ice sculpture, Albus thought; beautiful and chilly and not something you should touch unless you wanted it to freeze you.

Only he wasn’t freezing at all, but burning. Everywhere they touched felt like fire. Their tongues thrust and tangled and it was like Albus was kissing flames. Scorpius’s fingers slipped from Albus’s hair and ran across his shoulder blades, down his back, around his waist, his hips; even through his shirt Albus could feel the fire of Scorpius’s light touch. He found himself wondering, bizarrely, what those exquisite fingers would taste like.

The thought had him moaning into Scorpius’s mouth, loud and desperate and full of longing. More fire uncurled in Albus’s gut and in his groin. He pressed closer to Scorpius, not caring that he was pinning his friend helplessly against the hard floor. Scorpius didn’t seem to care either. He pushed up fiercely against Albus, like he was trying to meld their bodies into one.

Albus would have seconded that plan, if he’d had enough breath with which to speak to do so. Scorpius seemed to have stolen all the air from his lungs, though, so all he could do was groan into their hungry kisses.

Their mouths started to stray the way their hands were, licking and kissing and tasting chins and noses and jaw lines. Scorpius ran kisses lightly down the inside of Albus’s neck and Albus shuddered, nearly lost in the heady sensation of lips and tongue. He returned the attention along the edge of Scorpius’s jaw, licking all the way up to his earlobe, and then nuzzling low down into the hollow of Scorpius's pale throat. Albus tugged Scorpius's shirt aside so that he could slide his mouth along the sharp line of Scorpius's collar bone, nipping lightly at the smooth skin as he went.

He didn’t know why he’d felt compelled to do something like that, but he was glad he had; Scorpius reacted so violently that for a moment, Albus was afraid that he’d hurt him. But no: Scorpius’s involuntary moan was a husky, loud—incredibly loud—response of startled pleasure. He arched up against Albus, his fingers tightening convulsively, and his whole body shuddered delightfully. Albus felt something strangely hard pressing against his gut and realized with a thrill of nervous excitement that it had to be Scorpius’s suddenly strong erection. He swallowed hard and felt his own cock twitch in response. His trousers were way too tight and he squirmed against Scorpius, trying to find some stretch in the cloth, but that only made the situation worse because Scorpius squirmed back against him in a really arousing way.

Albus moaned in his friend’s ear and didn’t realize that the noise must have been a word until he heard Scorpius gasp back, “yeah, that’s a…that’s a good idea…”

“What?” said Albus, forcing himself to pay more attention to what Scorpius was saying than to what he was doing—and he’d never had more trouble concentrating in his life, not even when Binns was in the middle of a double lecture and the Quidditch pitch was looming right outside the window.

“The bed,” Scorpius panted, “I agree, that’s…that’s a good idea.”

“Oh,” said Albus, “right, yeah.” It took him another minute to figure out what he was agreeing to and then the decision to stand up was a lot easier to make than it was to execute; standing up meant separating from Scorpius, after all, even if only for a minute.

Finally—after a last, hungry kiss—he managed it, scrambling backwards off his friend. Scorpius trembled as he sat up and they stayed that way a moment, staring at each other in blank-faced, flush-cheeked shock. Then Scorpius grinned, and Albus grinned back. Scorpius clambered to his feet and reached out a hand to help Albus rise to his; his knees were surprisingly shaky when he got there.

Scorpius couldn’t help it: he stepped closer and laced his arms around Albus’s waist, stretching up to catch the other boy’s mouth in a long, lingering kiss. Albus’s hands seemed to close around Scorpius’s shoulders entirely of their own accord, pulling him in even tighter. Their disparate heights, a distant part of Scorpius’s mind noted dispassionately, were well suitedp. Were Albus any taller Scorpius would have to rock all the way onto his toes to reach his mouth but as it was if he just arched his neck and Albus tilted his chin down, their lips met like they’d been designed to do nothing else.

When they broke apart again it was out of a desperate need for air.

“Bed,” Albus whispered, like he was trying to remember what the word meant.

“Right,” Scorpius replied, his own voice just as quiet and just as husky.

They lingered a moment, just enjoying being in one another’s arms, and then Albus took a step backwards and Scorpius moved with him. They stumbled a little, walking so closely together, and then the back of Albus’s legs hit the edge of his bed and he dropped onto it, Scorpius tipping over and landing on top of him. They laughed, squirming around until they were both actually sitting next to one another, and then they kissed again. It was gentler this time, more questioning, like they were testing things out; more curious than desperate, although that sudden strange hunger still smoldered just beneath the surface of their touch.

If they let themselves stop to think they’d have realized how insane this was, but that wasn’t something they wanted to acknowledge, so they just kept moving instead. Scorpius’s fingers—those dexterous, exquisite fingers—slipped up beneath the edge of Albus’s shirt and ran lightly over the skin of his torso. Albus shivered and reached for the tie that Scorpius—even on a week-end—wore knotted elegantly around his neck.

Scorpius was always fastidious and often over-dressed. Albus generally teased him about it but in truth he had always enjoyed his friend’s old fashioned sense of fashion and overdone style. Even if his clothes were usually a little ridiculous, and would have been completely so on anyone but Scorpius; on the petite, dignified blonde they somehow looked dashing, albeit anachronistic. Just now, though, Albus suddenly found it terribly annoying; how many buttons did Scorpius’s vest have, anyway? He scowled in frustration and, with a low chuckle, Scorpius pulled his fingers away from Albus to undo the rest of the fastenings himself.

Albus took the opportunity to kick his own shoes off and then, grinning, bent down to remove Scorpius’s boots—more buttons, he noticed with a muttered curse—but the way Scorpius had blushed when Albus leaned over his lap made wrestling with the annoying jet beads well worth it, he decided mischievously. He couldn’t stop his eyes from straying towards the bulge in Scorpius’s trousers. Looking at it made him terribly nervous but at the same time, even more excited than before. The cloth of his own pants stretched tighter over Albus’s own swelling erection.

He tossed Scorpius’s boots onto the floor and looked up just as Scorpius finished undoing the last button of his tailored shirt, revealing pale skin and a tight blue undershirt. Albus couldn’t stop himself from lurching forward and tackling the other boy onto the bed so that he could nuzzle the smooth collarbone that had just been revealed.

He had seen Scorpius undressed before, of course. In addition to the dormitory they had shared now for five years they had been on the same Quidditch team for four, and had seen one another change clothes more times than either boy could count, even after Arithmancy lessons. Albus wondered how he had never appreciated what a treat that should have been. Somehow, though, it was different now; now the sight of even a few centimeters of Scorpius’s sunless flesh made Albus go tingly all over.

Albus licked and kissed and sucked on Scorpius’s collarbone, his neck, the skin around it; he tugged the low collar of Scorpius’s undershirt even lower so he could reach more skin, more Scorpius. Scorpius moaned and trembled, curling one of his nimble legs around Albus’s and using the leverage to rock his body back and forth against Albus’s own. Albus gasped and ran his fingers across Scorpius’s slim, lightly muscled torso, pushing the blue shirt up around his ribcage.

Scorpius squirmed pleasurably and Albus felt delicate fingers plucking at the waistband of his jeans. Even Scorpius’s fumbling, a far away part of Albus’s thought-process that was still managing, somehow, to function—even his fumbling was graceful. The light brush of those fingers at his hips sent shivers running through Albus. He covered his friend’s mouth with his own again, probing hungrily with his tongue. Scorpius returned the kiss just as eagerly and it suddenly occurred to Albus that there was nothing so important in the world as the both of them getting their trousers off, right now.

Scorpius opened his eyes, half-confused and almost betrayed, when Albus suddenly pulled away. But Albus hadn’t gone far; he had only sat up, and was now struggling to pull his T-shirt off over his head. Scorpius heard a low, lusty chuckle and realized with a mild shock that the throat the unexpected sound had come from was his own.

He pushed himself upright and edged across the bed until he was right next to Albus, who seemed to have somehow gotten stuck in his silly Muggle shirt. Scorpius slipped his arms around the lithe, wiry muscles of Albus’s torso—a vibrant, lightly-tanned brown that looked particularly rich against the pasty whiteness of Scorpius’s skin—and grinned at the way Albus flinched and then melted into his arms.

Using the excuse of helping to pry the T-shirt off of him, Scorpius ran his gently probing hands up and down and all over Albus’s chest and back and stomach, exploring every inch. Albus had completely given up on the shirt and sat now helpless, trapped and trembling, under Scorpius’s ministrations. From the longing little whimpers that emerged from the thin green cotton, Albus was enjoying his captivity. Scorpius grinned and leaned in, licking the soft skin and enjoying the way it shivered under his mouth.

Albus’s struggles suddenly renewed and Scorpius, laughing, finally helped tug the shirt off. It was dropped over the side of the bed as carelessly as their shoes had been, and Scorpius’s vest and tie. Scorpius had never, ever just thrown his clothes haphazardly onto the floor before, but right now he couldn’t imagine anything more tedious than taking the time to fold them and set them down properly.

Then Albus’s fingers were at Scorpius’s waist and Scorpius’s were buried in Albus’s hair. He pulled their faces together for another kiss; whatever Albus was doing with his trousers, surely he could manage it without looking. Scorpius had important plans involving lips and tongues that superseded Albus’s need to see anything.

After a few minutes, though, the fumbling at his belt became frustrated and the two boys had to break apart or accept that their activities had stalled. Scorpius sat back slightly and Albus frowned down at the belt that had so flummoxed him. Scorpius laughed and pushed his friend’s hands out of the way. He easily undid the apparently complex clasp and slid the leather belt out of its loops and onto the floor.

“You need to wear less complicated clothes,” Albus told him sourly.

Scorpius laughed but didn’t have a chance to respond because Albus had recaptured his mouth and that was better than talking, anyway. They spent several distracted minutes like that, practically sitting in one another’s laps, Scorpius enjoying the feel of a shirtless Albus beneath his hands. Albus seemed to be enjoying it, too, if the little moans he kept making into Scorpius’s mouth were any indication, and Scorpius rather thought they were. He shivered with delight in response to each half-smothered sound.

Scorpius moved to shrug out of his own shirt, figuring that with it unbuttoned already he should be able to do that without separating their lips. The maneuver was made needlessly complicated by Albus’s eager assistance; after a few amusingly frustrating minutes of hindering one another far more than they were helping, the two boys managed to tug the shirt away and toss it over the side of the bed to join the rest of their discarded ensemble.

Albus ran his hands down Scorpius’s suddenly revealed arms; they were thin and pallid, sun being unkind to sensitive Malfoy skin and Sun Repelling Charms a necessity of Scorpius’s participation in any outdoor activity, but the slim muscles were taut beneath his soft skin. He was a Quidditch player, after all, and his skinny frame might look even scrawnier than Albus’s did when it was shrouded in clothing, but he had the wiry strength that one needed in order to be a Chaser. Both boys were exceptionally talented on the pitch: Slytherin won more matches than they lost by far, even though Gryffindor and Hufflepuff both had superior Seekers, and Ravenclaw some truly vicious Beaters. Nobody could beat the three Slytherin Chasers when they were on form, and they almost always were.

The two teammates had always appreciated one another’s athleticism, but now that had taken on a new and wholly unexpected dimension as they delighted in the feel of supple muscles under their hands and strong arms around their waists and the allure of taut, gently sculpted abs.

Scorpius gently, inexorably, pushed Albus over and then followed, crawling on top of him, running his fingers over every centimeter of those beautiful, delicious muscles. He followed his hands with his mouth, kissing and teasing and tasting. Albus groaned and shivered, happily allowing the slighter boy to pin him to the bedcovers. His own hands tugged at Scorpius’s undershirt, dragging it up over his head and throwing it aside at last to reveal the sight of a truly half-naked Scorpius Malfoy.

Albus smirked, enjoying the disheveled state the shirt had left his friend’s pale, ash-blond hair in almost as much as he enjoyed the mock-scolding look Scorpius gave him as he smoothed it back into place one-handed. Albus rolled his eyes, still grinning; trust Scorpius to want to look neat and prim even in the midst of making out. Albus’s green eyes glinted with a very Slytherin glow and he decided, privately, that he would have to see what he could do about keeping Scorpius too distracted to tidy his hair.

Scorpius started to frown curiously, as if some inkling of Albus’s intention had shown in his expression, so Albus rolled the other boy over onto his back and finally got on with getting their trousers off. Scorpius gasped and squirmed when Albus’s hands touched the clasp of his pinstriped trousers and, by extension, the straining bulge beneath the pleated cloth. _More buttons, of course_ , Albus thought, bemused, as he fought to keep focused on what he was doing despite the really distracting way Scorpius was squirming around. It was hard, but the goal would make it all worthwhile, Albus told himself, and when he finally pulled Scorpius’s trousers off, he knew he’d been right.

Now Scorpius was wearing nothing but silk blue undershorts and his dark, tall dress socks. That left a lot of very pale leg exposed in between, especially the beautifully trembling thighs that Albus could hardly tear his eyes away from—until they were caught by the straining bulge beneath that blue silk. The cloth was stretched very tight and now that Scorpius’s trousers were no longer restraining it, his erection looked even larger.

Albus could feel his own swelling in hungry response and he licked suddenly dry lips.

Scorpius’s pale cheeks were definitely flushed now and his soft lips were parted slightly, and he was panting. A lock of his white-gold hair had slipped rebelliously free and hung now across his forehead, just above cool grey eyes that were half-lidded and seemed to shine darkly with something that Albus figured could only be desire. The intensity of that gaze was both compelling and unnerving. Albus found himself leaning down as if hypnotized, his lips seeking out Scorpius’s of their own volition.

The other boy pushed up into the kiss, his mouth pulling at Albus’s hungrily. One of them moaned, or maybe both of them, and hot silk slid tantalizingly across Albus’s stomach, the boxers a torturously thin barrier between his skin and Scorpius’s cock. Scorpius whimpered and the sound ran through Albus like a physical shudder.

The graceful fingers at Albus’s waist were frantic this time, scrabbling impatiently at the zipper of his jeans. As they tugged it down they brushed the soft cotton beneath and Albus gasped. The feel of Scorpius’s fingers so close to his own straining erection felt like fireworks going off behind his eyes. Albus practically melted on top of his friend. He was certain that his limbs would never move again.

But a moment later they were both sitting up, struggling to get Albus’s trousers off. Albus was gasping for breath and Scorpius made little noises of impatience in the back of his throat as he pulled at Albus’s tight jeans. Albus knew he needed to get rid of this pair but they were comfortable, right at that perfectly broken-in stage, and he didn’t want to. They were just a little bit too small for him, though, which had never mattered before now, when suddenly it was vitally important that clothes be easy to remove.

Scorpius slid to the very edge of the bed pulling them off and when the worn denim at last relinquished its grip on Albus, the jeans took his socks with them, more or less; Albus kicked away the one that had managed to half-cling on then grabbed Scorpius by the arms and pulled him back up to him. They toppled over onto the bed and rolled around together in a tangle of limbs, kissing and gasping and laughing.

Then, suddenly, the fingers were there again: those long, elegant, marvelous fingers! They brushed lightly along Albus’s soft cotton boxers and the hard bulge within, ambling upwards to linger at the waistband, tugging and teasing, and then suddenly—daringly—they slipped within, sliding down Albus’s tender, throbbing skin to cup around the very tip of his erection.

Albus yelped and smothered Scorpius’s mouth in a hard, violent kiss. Scorpius practically purred in response. He slid sideways, just slightly, so that he was straddling Albus, who rocked against his hand and gasped. Scorpius grinned and brought their lips together for another kiss at the same time that he rubbed his thumb over the dripping tip of Albus’s cock. Albus moaned into the kiss, his whole body tensing and trembling.

Then it was Scorpius’s turn to gasp, because Albus’s hands had followed his lead and now they were on Scorpius’s boxers, his bulge, his butt; Albus’s fingers explored eagerly, sliding over every inch of the thin silk that did nothing to dull one’s sense of touch. Scorpius rocked backwards, groaning, at Albus’s investigation.

Albus followed him up and they were sitting again, close together, Albus’s thighs resting tight and hot atop Scorpius’s. They were so thoroughly in one another’s lap that, really, it had all merged into one; their hands and cocks bumped against one another as they moved and while neither boy was capable of keeping quiet they seemed to have moved beyond words and were conversing, now, merely in different inflections of _moan_ and _gasp_.

Scorpius’s free hand stole around Albus’s back, first tangling in his hair, now pressing him forward into Scorpius’s chest. The hand slid lower, the long fingers running down Albus’s spine like a trail of sparks. Scorpius paused when he reached the waistband of Albus’s pants, then kept going, eager to touch and discover.

He got more than he’d bargained for when his fingers moved down the tantalizing line of Albus’s arse and slid along the edge of the hole clasped within. Albus groaned and thrust forward, hard, against Scorpius’s hand. He buried his face in Scorpius’s shoulder and his moan seemed to go on forever. His whole body rocked and shuddered and he was left gasping, panting in Scorpius’s ear. Scorpius chuckled, unable to hide his smugness at causing such a reaction.

Albus seemed to take that as a challenge because he suddenly cupped his hands around the soft, silk-covered bulges of Scorpius's balls and squeezed, ever-so-gently. It was like lightening shot straight from Albus's hands out to every last inch of Scorpius's body, tingling all the way out to the tips of his fingers and back again. Scorpius cried out, loudly, something that sounded very much like Albus’s name.

“Oh, fuck, Albus,” he panted, clinging desperately to his friend and shaking in reaction.

“Wow,” Albus murmured. His tongue snaked out and licked the spot where Scorpius’s ear met his neck, and Scorpius shivered in delight.

He managed to get himself back under enough control to continue what his hands had started, sliding them once more into Albus’s underpants, front and back. Albus arched his back with a happy, startled gasp when Scorpius’s fingers again teased at his hole.

He fumbled at the waistband of Scorpius’s pants, tugging them down and out of the way and then both of his hands wrapped around the other boy’s stiff cock. Albus dragged back and forth on the hot, tender flesh, and Scorpius rocked with him, moaning. Albus was soon matching his rhythm, the two boys still sitting so close together than they bumped and rubbed against one another as they moved.

Albus felt like bolts of fire exploded at the base of his spine every time Scorpius pressed his fingers forward against his throbbing hole. This was both the most amazing thing he had ever felt as well as the most torturous; good as it was, he wanted more.

He groaned as much to Scorpius who, instead, withdrew the hand that was cupped around Albus’s arse. Albus couldn’t stop himself, he whimpered. But then Scorpius put that long, delicious finger that Albus had been fantasizing about ever since their second kiss into his own mouth, the whole exquisite length of it, and it was all Albus could do not to cum at the sight.

Scorpius drew the finger back out slowly. It glistened wetly. Albus licked his lips, staring hungrily. Scorpius seemed to be blushing, embarrassed, despite the fact that it was Albus who was having such disproportionate reactions to nothing more than a finger. Then the hand moved out of sight behind Albus’s back.

The finger slipped, warm and wet, back down to Albus’s hole and he grinned, then gasped. Scorpius didn’t stop with just pressing on the sensitive spot, but actually slipped his finger _inside_.

Albus positively writhed.

He was too distracted with the sudden strange, indescribable pleasure to notice that Scorpius was looking at him hesitantly, worried. Albus’s green eyes had fluttered closed and his mouth dropped open, panting at the insufficient air. He couldn’t seem to breathe properly, his lungs burned—his whole body burned—and he didn’t care if he never felt normal again, this was amazing. He’d never felt anything this bizarre, and he loved it.

The furrow of concern between Scorpius’s brows slowly faded and he grinned, watching his friend all but convulse with pleasure. He boldly thrust the finger in further, enjoying the way Albus twitched and gasped, apparently totally beyond words or sense.

One of Albus’s hands abandoned Scorpius’s cock (although the other moved even more enthusiastically, as if to make up for any deficiency its leaving might have created) and wrapped around the back of Scorpius’s neck to crush their mouths together in a hungry, moaning kiss. Albus’s fingers tangled in the smooth, silky blond hair that was now every bit as disheveled as Albus could have wanted, although he was too distracted himself to notice.

“I want you,” Scorpius rasped in his friend’s ear, and despite the fact that they had just spent the last several heavenly minutes fumbling at one another’s bits, the bald admission drew a whimpering moan of delight from Albus.

He tried to answer but Scorpius’s voice in his ear, his finger probing him from within and his hand tugging him from without, were all too much for Albus, whose reply turned into a long, stuttered scream. He couldn’t restrain himself any more, but came in a warm, wet stream against Scorpius’s dexterous hand. More of it spattered his friend’s torso, white against Scorpius’s ivory pallor.

Albus felt too good to be embarrassed about that, even when Scorpius, wearing a terribly wicked grin, lifted his sticky hand from Albus’s spent member and raised it to his mouth. His tongue flicked out and licked at the thick liquid dripping off his fingers. He languidly tilted his head, as if considering the strange new taste, but Albus didn’t give him a chance to comment.

He tackled the other boy backwards with a kiss then wrapped both his hands around Scorpius’s still-hard cock, stroking and pulling furiously. Scorpius was reduced to panting gasps, actually writhing on the bed. He looked completely lost in ecstasy and utterly disheveled. He would definitely need a comb to get his hair back into place after _this_.

Albus grinned.

Then he leaned down over his hands and licked the tip of Scorpius’s cock. Scorpius yelped and rocked against Albus’s hands, his back arching involuntarily. His boney cfingers gathered in handfuls of the bedcovers as if grasping for purchase against the heady sensations that were making him shake and tremble. “Albus!” he gasped, his cool grey eyes gone wide and desperate.

Albus contemplated actually putting the whole, throbbing length of Scorpius in his mouth—he’d never done anything even remotely like that before, or had anything like it done to him, but he knew the concept as well as any teenage boy—but before he could decide, Scorpius came, spilling out in a hot, spurting stream across Albus’s chest.

Both boys flopped onto the bed, trembling and panting for air. They were a sticky, sweaty mess and his hair was utterly beyond repair but Scorpius didn’t care. Getting messy had never been as marvelous as this, or he would have abandoned his habits of tidiness long ago.

“That was great,” Albus whispered, and Scorpius had to agree.

“I’m still not sure what it was all about, mind,” Scorpius murmured.

Albus frowned, pulling his head up enough so that he could see his friend’s face. Scorpius’s pale cheeks were still flushed, his eyes closed, his hair in complete disarray, and he had a soft, content smile on his lips that Albus had never seen before on the dignified, haughty boy’s carefully guarded face.

Something that felt a lot like understanding dawned. Albus slowly, hesitantly, smiled back. “Well,” he said, “I guess that means we’ll have to try it again sometime, just to see.”

Scorpius opened his eyes and grinned. “Perfect,” he said.

And it was.


End file.
